


Things Never Said

by JadeyKins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bobby by phone, M/M, Masturbation, Playing with the dynamic to see how it goes, happens between 6x10 and 6x11, mentions Sam Lisa and Crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4264929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeyKins/pseuds/JadeyKins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's had a rough couple of weeks riding around with Sam. After discovering that Sam's soulless--and worse, Sam doesn't want his soul back--Dean strikes out on his own for a couple of nights to try and cope with everything. But his mind keeps revolving around an end to his loneliness and Cas keeps dropping in. Dean spares a few thoughts to what might be fun...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Another dark bar, another mediocre beer, another bad night. Dean finished off the remnants in his glass and motioned at the bartender for another. Sam’s soul was _gone_ , had been stuck with Lucifer and Michael. Adam was still in there too. And the second Crowley had said he _couldn’t_ get Sam’s soul back, Cas had torched the King of Hell’s bones. Should be celebrating a death like that, but Sam didn’t want his soul anymore. And they’d fought, like always, and Sam had freaking walked off from him. Wasn’t answering his damn phone anymore.

Dean gave one more futile attempt. Everything had turned futile lately, huh? Living the normal life with Lisa and Ben. Trying to get on the job with the soulless nutcase that had _let_ him turn into a vampire. And Cas was losing his war in Heaven and didn’t want any help. Did anyone even need him? Hell, did anyone even _want_ him? The other bar patrons hadn’t done more than glance his way since he came in. The vibe he was sending out had to be that painfully bad. He wanted a friend, damn it.

A subtle, familiar pop went off behind him. Dean downed half of the new beer and set it down with a loud clatter. All right, he’d wanted a friend, but this wasn’t a good sign. He spun on his seat to face Castiel.

Something was off about Cas these days, too. Seemed like something was wrong with everyone but Bobby these days. With Cas, hell, it was probably just the strain of leading troops in battle. He was more rigid than usual which Dean hadn’t thought possible until recently. His voice was rougher, his blue eyes starker. “Hello, Dean.”

“I called for you for fucking weeks. Tonight I give an idle thought and now you come?” Dean spat out.

Cas had the decency to look mildly ashamed.

“How long have you been eavesdropping?”

“You haven’t been speaking.”

“You showed up without all the freaking blowy wind crap. And right when I uh—” Dean tapped his temple. “So how long you been perched on my shoulder?”

“A few minutes.”

“And why are you here, huh? You said I couldn’t help with your war.”

Cas seemed to be aware that they were attracting the local populations’ attention, so he finally sank onto a seat beside him at the bar. “You needed a friend.”

“I’ve been needing one a lot lately and where the hell have you been?”

“ _Heaven_ ,” Cas said, as if the word should make Dean feel a sliver of sympathy for the angel’s ordeal.

But it didn’t. He was a terrible human being for it, but that’s the way it was. Nothing in Hell or Heaven could make Dean Winchester feel something he didn’t want to feel. He motioned for the bartender. “Hey, give me a double Jack.”

“You’re troubled,” Cas continued in that monotone voice.

“Yeah, well, what’s new?”

“Your current distress with Sam.”

“That’s been going on for weeks. ‘Sides, nothing we can do, right? Just got to get used to having a soulless brother.”

“I wish I could help.”

Dean didn’t have anything good to say to that. He danced his fingers around the whiskey glass before knocking half of it back. Sam. Lisa. Man, was there anything not fucked up in his life right now? Dad, well, damn, would Dad have been prouder of the way Sam could clean out the monsters lately or pissed about Sam’s soullessness? No guiding stars, no destiny, how was Dean supposed to figure out what to do? Maybe better if Sam went on his own. 

But someone, someday, was going to get hurt with Sam’s carelessness for human life. Hell, Dean had nearly died himself more than once now that he thought about it. He polished off the round and ordered another. “I’ve got to get it back,” he whispered hoarsely.

“It’s in the Cage,” Cas replied.

“We opened it once. Got to be a way of doing it again.”

“Then Lucifer and Michael would be free and Sam’s sacrifice would be for nothing.”

“Damn it, Cas! He’s not right. And he doesn’t care that he’s not right. I can’t just leave him like that. The real Sam wouldn’t stand for it. He’d hate what he’s become. I gotta fix this.”

Cas laid a hand on his shoulder. “It isn’t up to you to solve the universe.”

“If I don’t do it, who will? Samuel? You?”

“Dean, I—”

“Save it,” Dean muttered. “Can’t take anymore apologies right now.”

They lapsed into silence and Cas slowly removed his hand. The touch had been kind of reassuring. Things with Cas had seemed so distant lately that he missed the camaraderie they’d had fighting Lucifer. He’d rather go back to fighting the apocalypse than face what he was up against now. Future without anybody. On the road until he died. Waiting for a mission that meant something. Gently, Cas put his hand back on him. “You aren’t alone, my friend.”

“Rude digging in my thoughts,” he mumbled.

“You’re inebriated.”

“Killer detection skills, Sherlock.” He knocked back the rest of his drink and held up the empty glass to get the bartender’s attention.

Cas suddenly seemed distracted. A scowl creased those perfect features and he glanced over Dean with clear worry in his eyes. “I have to go.”

“‘Course you do. I’ll be fine.” There was a bitter note in his voice and he didn’t try to hide it. Cas was in his head anyway, was there a reason to pretend he wasn’t pissed?

And Cas was gone without another word. He was slipping, being around humans so much, because he hadn’t bothered waiting until the bartender’s back was turned. Instead, Dean got treated to watching the big burly guy do a double-take and then spend the rest of the night drinking water. Good for that guy. Dean wanted to forget tonight existed.

*** 

The booze only cut the headache down to a dull thrum. Dean tipped back the glass and tried to keep the slight groan to himself. The sudden movement had aggravated his head, but nothing like the hair of the dog to stave off what he felt. He wasn’t sure what was worse, though—the hangover headache or the impending doom hanging over his head. Not that he had a right to feel true doom, really. Aw, fuck it all, another round would solve it.

Bar was pretty empty at this hour, yet the lights were still low. Perfect kind of hole to drink the day away. When his next round arrived, he actually managed a small smile at it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Bobby. Good. Lisa had tried the other day and he’d damned near answered on accident. “Hey.”

“What are you doing, boy?” Bobby demanded.

Okay, maybe having Bobby on the line wasn’t any better than Lisa at the moment. “Taking a break.”

“What kind of break?”

“The kind where I figure out what the hell I’m doing next.”

“Sam told me you split off from him.”

“He mention that he doesn’t want his soul back?”

Bobby went silent for a long, disturbing moment. “I sort of see his point, Dean.”

Dean ended the call and let his phone drop to the bar. The bartender glanced at him, but didn’t say anything. Wasn’t important what the other guy thought anyway. So long as the booze kept flowing, Dean didn’t give a rat’s ass what went on around him. After all, Crowley was dead. Heaven’s war wasn’t his problem. No one wanted Sam’s soul back in his body. Wasn’t anything for him to do anymore. The thoughts kept cycling ‘round his mind like a tornado, wrecking havoc with any slight self-worth he’d built up over the last year. ‘Cause, come on, he’d failed at that too.

“You’re drunk. Again.”

Cas’s voice was a sudden addition to the surroundings and this time a total surprise. Dean had been in mid-motion and wound up spilling whiskey all down his front. As he licked his hand, he muttered, “Thanks for that.”

“Dean, you can’t keep numbing your mind like this.”

“Why the hell not? No one else gives a shit.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure it isn’t.” Dean turned away from the angel’s intense gaze. ‘Course he had a point. He was a freaking omniscient being that could read other people’s minds, but Dean would rather go back to Hell right now than listen to him. If someone actually cared about him, then he had the chance to hurt them and more than anything he was sick of hurting. Hurting other people, hurting inside. Seemed the last six years had been nothing but a roller coaster of pain.

Castiel took a seat next to him and leaned on the bar. His brow knitted together with concern again.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a fragile crust about to break. I’m fine.”

“Your pain is crashing in your psyche louder than thunder. I would hardly call that ‘fine.’”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“Is there anything I’m allowed to do?”

Dean scoffed. He wanted to tell Cas to piss off, but at the same time he wanted someone around. More than anything, he wanted Sam or his dad. That wasn’t possible and he wasn’t going to sit here thinking too long about it ‘cause that might lead to crying and then he really would have to do something about that. So instead, he ordered another drink.

“I can’t stay,” Cas said suddenly.

“Awesome. Figures.”

“Dean—”

“What’s one measly friend when there’s all of Heaven, right?”

“Don’t make me feel guilty about this,” Cas said sharply and something about his tone sent that old nearly forgotten thrill straight down to Dean’s crouch. “What I do is for my siblings, my family. And yours as well.”

Only guy trying to sit by his side and he was being an asshole. If he was drunker or more sober, he’d stick to that damn macho charade until Cas just fucking left. Naw, instead, he was feeling that tug of regret in his gut and not a lot of anything else. So he muttered, “Sorry.”

Cas poofed again and the bartender stared at that blank spot beside Dean. This time he decided to take a shot. Was all Dean could do to keep from laughing at him.

*** 

The third day, Dean brought back a burger and fries along with the bottle of Jack Daniels. As he cracked the the lid, a thought stole across his mind like the chill of a ghost. _He was on a bender._ He’d officially become John Winchester Junior. In disgust, he took a long swallow out of the bottle. So what. Everyone had been telling him that he was his father’s son for years.

At least today he’d bothered putting in a meal before the booze.

He ate the food in silence, considered ordering in some more later, and took a few more drags off the bottle before he settled onto the bed. No one had bothered calling him today. Good. Didn’t want to talk to anyone. He flipped on the television and cruised through the channels. Nothing on.

This time a rush of air and wings announced Cas’s presence. He stood in front of the tv with holy light practically flaring in his eyes. “You just gave up.”

The words were registering, but an answer wasn’t. Maybe Dean’d killed off too many brain cells to give a good witty fight. That’d be a shame. Sarcasm was about the only thing that made some situations fun. But when nothing came to mind, he just flicked his eyes to the wall instead.

“How is this helping anyone?”

“No one needs my help.”

“That is, excuse my phrasing, utter bullshit.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. Apparently all it took to make Castiel swear was to give up. The alcohol had numbed his mind up pretty good. He should care, but he didn’t. Score one for booze finally doing its intended trick. “You been in my head the last few days, right?”

Cas shifted his eyes away. “Yes.”

“So you know what’s going on in there. Think that little pep speech of yours did anything?”

“You don’t want it to do anything,” he replied.

Dean sat up. “Look at you catching on.”

“This isn’t getting Sam’s soul back.”

“You come up with a way to do that?”

“No.”

The word was too fast. Too quick. Dean frowned and licked his lip. He slurred, “You do got something in mind.”

“I thought of someone who might have the power. I don’t know his limitations. He might not be able to help. He might not be _willing_ to help.”

“Who?”

Cas refused to meet his gaze.

Dean wobbled up to his feet—okay, he’d had more than he thought—and got up in Cas’s face. “Who?”

“Death.”

“Great. Let’s call him up right now.”

“He doesn’t work like that, Dean.”

“So you’re saying that you won’t help me. Again.”

“I’m saying that I can’t,” Cas replied. “If I call on Death, he’ll either take me or believe that I want him to play a part in this war and kill me for the impudence. What you want is a big favor and Death doesn’t grant those.”

“Won’t know until we ask.”

“Until you do. I can’t have a part of this.”

“Gee, well, thanks, Cas.”

“I don’t expect gratitude, Dean, but a measure of respect would be nice.” There was that bossy tone of voice again and even though Dean was drunk, it had an embarrassing effect on his lower region. “I did just give you an idea. It might have come to you if you hadn’t wasted three days in inebriation.”

“I’m going through some shit.”

That ruffled Cas’s feathers even further. He straightened and that put his eyes on level with Dean. “Your suffering isn’t an excuse to punish your body. You’re aware of what you're doing. Why are you acting this way?”

A thousand new excuses blossomed in the garden of depression in his head, but Dean only pursed his lips. The bottle was too far out of reach or he’d snatch it up right here. In the end, he was the one who couldn’t meet Cas’s gaze. He dropped back a step and muttered, “Isn’t this about when you usually take off? Some big battle to fight?”

“I should.” Cas sighed and gave him a genuinely empathetic look. “I would rather stay here with you.”

“Aw Cas, I’m no fun. ‘Specially not tonight.”

“Then maybe some night when you are ‘fun.’”

What the hell? Before Dean could say anything, Cas took off in a rush of wings. Dean sank onto the edge of the bed with his knees splayed wide. Had Cas just hit on him? Geeky little guy with social problems couldn’t have been hitting on him. Naw, had to be a mistake. Dean was reading things into it that weren’t there. Simple as that.

But what’d that mean about him? If Cas wasn’t flirting with him, why was Dean thinking that he had? Hell, if Cas hadn’t kissed Meg like that the other night, then Dean at least would have solace in the fact that Cas just _didn’t_ think about _anyone_ that way. But there was proof he got boners and proof he liked kissing. Had he picked up flirting skills? Did Dean want him to have them? Since when had he wanted Cas to flirt with him. Sure, Cas had really intense blue eyes and a jawline that was all right, ‘specially when it was covered in scruff. Couple of times he’d seen him without that damn trench coat had stirred a little something in his thoughts, right? What about what he’d been doing with his voice lately?

And damn it, the booze hadn’t done enough to numb his body. He was still thinking about the curve of Cas’s lip. When did he care about that?

With a frustrated groan, he flopped back on the bed. The thoughts weren’t getting any better. It’d been more than a couple weeks since he’d gotten laid. Maybe that was all. So he grabbed the remote, sat up, and flipped the station to one of those crappy pornos. Little girl on girl action, nice. He could see himself in the middle of some of that. Giggly, happy people. His cock got harder and he rubbed his palm over it light and quick. Yup, booze couldn’t hold his dick back.

Movie wasn’t so bad, but it only served to rile him up further. That had been his intent, sure, only something wasn’t satisfying about the flick. Something missing. He squirmed and got his pants down low on his thighs. Air against his sensitive skin did a little something more. He wanted _something_ more. With a groan, he flung back against the bed before shoving his hand inside his underwear. Friction didn’t do the trick either. All he wound up with was a hard cock and a pile of frustration.

“Come on,” he muttered. Had to be something in his head worth getting excited over. Had to be something he wanted.

Cas’s voice echoed back, _I would rather stay here with you_. A little wave of pleasure slipped down Dean’s skin and he gasped.

No, no that thought had to be some kind of sacrilege. ‘Cept Dean hadn’t exactly been playing by God’s rules for a long time, had he? But there were some lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Having fantasies about holy warriors of the divine sort of seemed like one of those lines. Yet the more he tried to say ‘no,’ the more wrong it felt, the more he bucked up into his hand. His hand went back and forth, sliding easier and easier, all while his mind replayed watching Cas kiss Meg, and taking Meg’s part. Cas had shoved him up against walls before. Had a different feel to it, but Dean had an imagination. Couple of changes and suddenly that push wasn’t about anger anymore. More about the way Cas smelled like a summer storm. About their mouths hovering close. He moaned.

“Dean?”

Dean jumped at the sound of Cas’s gravel voice. Sweat was dripping off him and he was panting. Worse, he was in full display for Cas without an easy way to cover up what had been going on. He grabbed the pillow to hide his cock anyway. “Don’t you have a battle to fight!”

“I heard you—”

“Then you shoulda known this was not the time to pop in!”

“Dean,” Cas said in that strict voice and Dean had to bite his cheek to stay quiet. “You were calling to me harder than you have in days. I thought you were in distress.”

“Well, I’m not!”

“So I see.”

“So you should get back to, you know, fighting something.”

Was that a smirk on Cas’s lips? “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Cas took off again and Dean could have sworn that he took a look at that pillow covering his groin before disappearing.

Talk? About this? Later? Dean groaned again. He wasn’t entirely sure what this was. Weird fantasy, had to be. When Cas came back, he’d just explain it like that. Human brain acting funny, nothing more than that going on. Few stray thoughts about what having that body pressed against his might be like. Little curiosity about the certain words would sound out of his mouth. That’s all, that’s it.

That’s what Dean was telling himself for a few minutes longer, until his hand finally managed to ease that tension in his cock. He had to strip the pillowcase before shoving the pillow back with the others. At least that bitterness was out of him too. First night this week he felt like he could sleep right, though he tried not to picture Cas lying there in the bed with him.

Though a little, still drunk voice in his head said it was totally fine to imagine Cas anyway he wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

“Damn it, Dean, there ain’t no way of doin’ it,” Bobby said.

Dean wiped a hand down his face. “We haven’t even tried!”

“Because only a moron goes around thinking he can summon Death. It’s _Death_. You know, one of the four Horseman.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but outside of Raphael, he’s the only one that might be strong enough to pull something like this off,” Dean said.

“Well without Crowley, I don’t see how you’re going to find him, much less get his attention. And he ain’t exactly the kind of guy you want the attention of.”

“I don’t have a frigging choice, do I? I’m out of options.”

Bobby sighed ragged and Dean thought he heard the opening of a bottle. “I will look into it. Will take a few days.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“Try to do something useful while I’m looking.”

“Like what?”

“Got a tip there might be a haunting out that way.”

Dean sighed. Last thing he wanted right now was a freaking hunt, but what else was he going to do? Work on killing his liver and wait for Cas to show up for that ‘talk?’ “All right. Give me the details.”

 

*** 

 

The wound wasn’t so bad. Dean told himself that a dozen more times as he drove from the graveyard back to the motel room. He kept a hand on top of the stab wound—wasn’t fair fighting when a ghost picked up a freaking tree branch and hurled it at him. Blood oozed between his fingers, but he was sure that if he got back to the room he could sew the damn hole up and everything would be fine.

It hurt like a son of a bitch, though. He got into the the room and flipped on the lights. Way more blood soaking into his shirt than he thought. He hissed in pain as he stripped off his coat and shirts. Damn it, that was a lot of blood. A sensible man would get his ass to a hospital, but then most sensible men didn’t have warrants out on ‘em. No way to tell for certain if they’d notice him, but always a chance someone would call bullshit on his insurance cards and then he’d be fucked. Only acceptable risk would be if he was dying.

Which as he turned on the bathroom light and glanced in the mirror, he realized that might just happen. Nausea built up at seeing the deepness of the wound. This was serious. He’d screwed up coming back to the motel.

He spun away from the bathroom and staggered back towards his jacket. Crap. Was getting hard to put one foot in front of the other. He tripped over his feet, grabbed at the chair, and failed to hold himself upright. With a crash, he landed on the motel room floor.

Phone. If he could get a phone, he could call an ambulance. Dean fought to push himself up off the floor, only to see his jacket abandoned on the table above him. He dragged it down and fumbled through the pockets.

No reception.

The motel phone seemed like it was a mile away, but he was out of options. He groaned and somehow found the strength to get to his knees. _It’s not that far. I can do this. C’mon, not going to die here like this_. He gritted his teeth and forced himself onwards. Few more feet and he’d have the phone.

Suddenly, there was a whoosh of air and hand gripped his arm. Castiel wrenched him up from the floor and Dean cried out from the sharp pain in his gut. With that constipated look on his face, Castiel put two fingers against Dean’s forehead.

And just like that the pain was gone.

Dean got to his feet and shoved Cas away. “You didn’t have to bother. I had a handle on it.”

“You were bleeding out.”

“I would’ve been fine.”

Cas sighed in frustration. “A little gratitude would be nice in this situation, Dean. I saved your life.”

“An ER could’ve done that,” Dean replied as he headed for the bottle of Jack sitting on the table.

“Then I at least saved you weeks of recovery, which might have cost your life on some other hunt.”

That point he couldn’t argue. Dean shrugged and poured himself a glass. “Fine. Thanks.”

Cas snatched the glass away. “We need to talk.”

“Three days go by and now you want to talk?”

“I was busy.”

Dean snatched the glass back out of Cas’s hand. “Maybe I’m busy now.”

“You were fantasizing about me.”

 _Oh fuck no are we going to start this with me sober_. Dean downed the contents of the glass. 

“You were aroused.”

“Keep on stating the obvious, Cas. Bound to get us somewhere.”

“You are not making this an easy conversation.”

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. Cas had that stern look on his face again, the one that said he clearly wasn’t happy with Dean’s behavior. So what? Guy had practically abandoned him and Sam this last year. A small guilty voice reminded him that Cas had his own fight in Heaven. Too bad the bottle of liquor was on the other side of Cas right now. Dean preferred drowning that bit of conscious out. “You can’t tell the differences in my thoughts?”

“All I understood was that you had a desperate need for my presence.”

 _Fuck_. Dean cleared his throat. “Well. It was a fluke.”

“Fluke?”

“A mistake.”

“I’m aware of the word’s meaning, Dean, but those thoughts were a concentrated effort. You ‘fluked’ an attraction to me?” Cas asked. He neared Dean, hovered over him and the discrepancy forced Dean to look up at him. His eyes were such a bright blue. Was his Grace peeking through?

Dean’s throat had gone suddenly dry. “I was lonely. You came to mind. That’s all. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Like now. The fact that Cas was so close, that he could simply reach out and touch him, didn’t mean a damn thing. He didn’t need to know what the press of Cas’s lips were like, or how that voice might sound, or how firm Cas’s grip was. Besides, he knew all that, other than the lips. And Cas could keep his lips to himself.

_After all, aren’t you more interested in the cock?_

Fuck did he need more alcohol.

Cas slid a knee up onto the bed beside Dean’s leg. They were lightly touching, but only through the cloth of their pants. That tie of his swung out and Dean focused his gaze there. Breathing was harder with the angel this close. In that deep voice, Cas said, “Are you lonely now?”

Dean was still staring down. Was this actually happening? Or had Cas knocked him out when he touched his forehead? Had to be a dream. Cas slipped his fingers into the back of Dean’s hair and then tugged Dean’s head back. They instantly locked gazes and Dean’s breath hitched. Cas was expecting an answer. “You’re here. For the moment at least.”

“So you aren’t having those desires?”

Was Cas trying to tease him? Dean licked his lip. “Can’t you read my mind?”

“I can see a few, clear impressions.” Cas grinned. “There’s another one.”

Dean tried to push that thought away. Having Cas bend him over like that had to be some level of wrong, but the more he said ‘no’ to it, the more an internal voice wailed to stop repressing the urge. Giving full-blown fantasy power to something like that wasn’t in his normal bag. He liked a dominant partner most of the time. This image was beyond the usual. After all, he wound up _begging_ in it. 

“All you have to say is no,” Cas said.

A question formed on his lips, but Dean never got the chance to ask because Cas was descending on him. Their lips brushed together once, twice, a third time before Dean opened his mouth and let Cas inside. Scruff roughed up his lips, his cheeks, only he was more concerned about that heat growing between them. Soon enough, Cas was pushing him back against the bed and Dean gasped for air in their momentary break.

Cas looked like he was ready to devour Dean. The whole freaking thing was insane. Dean didn’t often go for guys and Cas? _Cas?_ They’d been friends for a while, allies longer than that, and once maybe even qualifying as enemies since Dean had stabbed him. This—this was happening. Cas was shedding the trenchcoat and yanking the tie down, all while watching Dean’s floundering reactions. Probably hearing nearly every thought going on in his head. One simple word and Dean would end all this weirdness happening.

Only that word wasn’t coming to his lips. 

Cas hovered over him and Dean just stared in disbelief. Yeah, Cas had gotten a hard on before. Even expressed an interest in making out the other day, but an angel wanting full blown intercourse blew Dean’s mind. _And he wants me?_ Cas kissed him again and finally Dean’s brain kicked back into gear. He looped an arm around Cas’s shoulders—he could’ve sworn they weren’t so broad—and opened up once again. That strength in Cas hadn’t disappeared. He was like liquid marble and Dean rolled up against him. One word and they’d stop.

Except Dean slid his hands down and rubbed a hand against Cas’s crotch. Cas bucked into him unexpectedly and Dean laughed until a hard thrust into his hand made him moan. All that power. Cas could fucking break him in two without trying. 

“I won’t hurt you,” Cas murmured in his ear.

Dean turned his head. Was a bad idea to let those words mean more than the moment implied. This—this sex couldn’t possibly wind up being a good thing in the end. They’d hurt each other somehow, eventually. He should tell Cas to stop.

Yet when Cas tugged on his jeans, all Dean wanted was to be rid of them. They tore and fumbled with the rest of the clothes until they were both naked. Then Cas was nudging at his asshole. Dean drew up sharply, nearly smacking their faces together. “Whoa. You can’t just shove on in. Guys don’t work like that.”

Cas’s lust blown eyes refocused and he nodded tightly. “Women have been known to prefer lubricant too.”

“Which is why there’s a bottle in my—”

Before he’d finished the sentence, Cas opened his hand and there was a bottle of lube. Had he moved that fast or had he materialized it in his hand? No matter, since a slicked up finger pushed into him. Dean groaned. Been too long since the last time he’d done this and it felt like a first all over again. He clutched onto Cas and bore it down.

“Relax,” Castiel murmured and the tone alone dropped Dean into a less stressed mind frame. A moment later and Cas was massaging _that spot_. Dean tried not to whimper. How’d a guy with no experience have perfect form on the first go? Must’ve been all that porn he was watching. Didn’t take long before Dean pleaded for more in a nearly broken voice.

And Cas came into him like a tidal wave. He was the shore and his control like sand. With every crest and crash against him, Dean lost a little more of himself until he clutched onto Cas with a scream. A light freaking blew—sparks going everywhere—and Dean could only ride out the surf. Minutes passed before he realized he was covered in sweat and cum, that Cas had left some inside, too. Should’ve worried about that, maybe. If he got an STD off an angel, he might just die of laughter. As things stood now, he wanted to laugh and pass out all at the same time. He was vaguely aware that Cas was lying beside him.

“Dean,” Cas whispered.

Dean rolled his head over. Been a long time since he’d felt this good. “Yeah?” 

“You’ll have some bruising.”

He couldn’t feel any sore spots. Endorphins were too high. “Lived with worse.”

“I could heal them.”

“Surprised you didn’t already.”

“I like leaving my mark on you.”

Dean snorted, remembering a certain red handprint. “Yeah, I know.”

Castiel sat up abruptly, his features starker in the dark. “I have to go.”

“Now? You’re just going to fuck me and take—” Dean sat up, but even by the time he got upright, Cas was gone. His clothes, everything. Just vanished.

All except for those marks on his hips.

_Yeah, okay. THAT we’re going to have to talk about later._

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping to have this on an every two weeks schedule. Can't make that an absolute promise though.


End file.
